Romantic Entanglements: A Collection of Prompt Fills and Drabbles
by J. Metropolis
Summary: Tangled prompts submitted by readers. Rated K-M. (Chapter 4 - Rapunzel tends to a sick Eugene).
1. Soused

**Title:** Soused  
**Rating:** M  
**Word Count:** 2,086  
******Prompter:** Anonymous**  
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**Soused**

He had learned she was a screamer. He had learned that lesson the first time they spent the night together when he had hurriedly seized her lips in a panic trying to muffle her loud cries. He hadn't wanted the guards barging in on them. Not that night, not in that compromising position.

It wasn't that he wasn't supposed to be in her bedroom at that late hour. To the contrary, he was _expected_ to be there and expected to do exactly what he was doing. In fact, it was the only official duty of his newly minted title of Prince Consort to the Princess of Corona. He was sure his new in-laws would delegate to him additional duties; they weren't going to just let him prance around the corridors of the castle like some prized stud or preening peacock for very long. But the honeymoon period had just begun and it had been his wedding night. He had no place else he had to be, nothing else he had to do, but be there, alone with his princess and she was finally that, _his_.

_No_, for once he hadn't been afraid of getting caught by the guards because he was doing something illicit. Rather, he hadn't wanted them to barge in on this most intimate of moments because they had mistook Rapunzel's enraptured wails for a sign that her life was in danger. Eugene had evaded the guards for a good decade before hanging up his satchel and retiring his libelous wanted posters; they never once got his nose right. He knew from personal experience that the King's men weren't a particularly bright lot.

Nobody gets it right the first time. Not even a seasoned pro like the former Flynn Rider. Rapunzel had been nervous, which was understandable. _Hell_, he had been nervous too. He may have done this enough times to make a call girl blush, but he had never done this with her. He had never done this with someone he loved. He may have been far removed from a virgin, but the first time he made love to a woman was still on his wedding night.

For her part, Rapunzel had been the quintessential blushing bride, complete with a kaleidoscope of butterflies in her stomach that made her knees knock and her teeth chatter. Her nervousness had caused her to tense up in his arms and he had tried his best to help her relax. He had pulled her soft warm hands and placed them on his own body, suppressing a pleasured groan as he reacted to her touch for the very first time. He had wanted her to see that it was just skin, like the rest of him and nothing to be afraid of. He could tell when her already large emerald eyes grew even bigger and her rosebud lips parted in astonishment, that this gesture had had the opposite effect than what he had intended.

Superhuman good looks weren't the only things he'd been blessed with and he spent the next few minutes trying to assure her that yes, it would most definitely fit. He had tested this theory out many, many times, but he felt it crass to remind her of that on their first night together as husband and wife. He had always been honest with her about his past conquests. The task had been a lot easier early on in their courtship when after much trepidation he had confessed to her that he had "been" with a lot of women before her. He thought she took the news surprisingly well and that he was in the clear until a few months later when her mother - her real mother, not that witch who raised her - explained to her what that actually meant.

He had thought that maybe he was going about this the wrong way and rather than unintentionally intimidating his inexperienced princess with his natural endowments, he would help her relax the only other way he knew how, with his practiced hands and his overattentive mouth. It hadn't taken long for her to turn into a gelatinous pile of shivering limbs under his skilled touch, mewling his name as she was hit with wave after wave of radiating warmth. He hadn't earned his reputation with the ladies for nothing.

Still, when it came time for the act itself, she tensed up again. He was as gentle as he could possibly be, but there was no way around this painful right of passage. Her body needed to adjust and to accommodate him and there was only one way to do that.

He took no pleasure in hurting her on their wedding night, but soon practice lead to blissful perfection in those feverish first few months of their nuptials.

Still, it wasn't until they had done this quite a few times, gotten to know each other's preferences and found their own rhythm that it happened. He felt her blindly pawing the mattress below them afterwards.

"Eugene," she said, her voice having grown small and timid.

"Hmm?" He was so spent, he could hardly form words as he scooped her in his warm arms and flipped both of them over so that she was now draped over his firm chest.

"The bed's wet," she said quietly, gaving him an embarrassed wince before trying to hide her face in his collarbone.

"So?" He said casually as if she'd reported to him that it was almost dawn and that meant the sun would come up soon.

"_No_, what I mean is . . . I think _I_ wet the bed," she explained, still hiding her face from him. "I'm sorry," she added.

Eugene knew that wasn't the case. That wasn't what she had done. He'd been there, he'd felt it. It had triggered his own release. He had also been with enough women to recognize it for what it was and to know that this was something some women were able to do on occasion. It wasn't something you called them out on or demanded they repeat on cue to stroke a fragile male ego. He wasn't even going to say anything about it to her in case it embarrassed her.

He wedged a hand under either side of her axillae and pried her off of him so he could look at her, although he didn't need to see her to know that the color on her face rivaled Pascal's when the frog would catch them kissing behind the rose bushes and turn red.

The sun's rays were starting to creep over the horizon and there was enough light coming in through the large french doors that led to their balcony, that he could make out the features of her beautiful face.

"Rapunzel," he tried searching her eyes, but she wouldn't look at him, "you didn't wet the bed. That's not what happened. You had a different kind of climax, that's all."

When he told her this, he noticed her eyes trailing down to the offending spot.

"I do it every time we're together and you don't freak out about it," he reminded her, craning his neck and tilting his head trying to get into her line of sight.

"I freaked out the first time," she corrected.

Eugene smiled as he recalled the moment she was referring to. It had been the morning after their wedding by the time they had finished and he had sat her on the bed and had gone to retrieve a damp washcloth from their bathroom. When he had returned he crouched down between the slender legs that were hanging over the edge of the bed, resting he knees on the floor, and gently began wiping away the remnants of the night before. As he did so, he had placed not so innocent kisses on her inner thighs. She had moaned softly and the sound made his body ache for another go, but he knew she was sore and there was no way he was going to put her through that again before she'd had a chance to recover.

She had suddenly looked down at his ministrations with pleasured, half lidded eyes, when he heard her gasp. The sound had made him jerk back and had caused his stomach to dropped. He had thought he'd brushed over a really tender spot and unintentionally hurt her. "Wh-, what is that?" He had heard her exclaim when she had noticed that the remnants of her innocence were not the only thing he'd been wiping away from her with the washcloth. He had realized then that perhaps the queen's premarital chat with Rapunzel had omitted some very important parts or maybe she had described the process demurely, in terms so abstract that Rapunzel had failed to grasp the concept. He had explained to her then, the mechanics of his own release in terms that were much more hands-on and concrete. He could see now that he needed to explain this corollary response too.

"Some women do it too, sometimes," he told her as he pushed himself up, putting both him and her into a sitting position and she wrapped her slender legs around his waist. His large hands were still under her arms and his thick fingers were splayed over her shoulder blades supporting her.

She scrunched up her nose in a gesture that told him she wasn't entirely happy with this bit of news and she furrowed her delicate brows like she was deciding whether this was one secret society she even wanted a membership to.

"It doesn't bother me," he added quickly. "In fact, I think it's kinda hot," he admitted.

"You do?" She asked incredulously.

"_Yeah_, I find every time you let go incredibly hot," he confessed. It wasn't a big secret. He thought it was pretty obvious that he loved when she would fall apart in his arms.

"Even this time?"

"Yes." _Especially this time_, he thought. He didn't want to broadcast this fact to her because he didn't want her to feel pressured to do this every time. He wanted her to relax and focus on how good it felt when they were together and not worry about whether it would happen or not happen again.

"But it was so . . . messy this time," she protested.

"It's always sticky and messy," he reminded her, threading one arm through the space under her arm, so that he could free up his other hand and tuck a loose strand of short, chocolate locks behind her right ear.

"Usually, it's mostly my mess and this time you . . . _added_ to it. It doesn't bother me," he assured her.

"Was it unpleasant for you?" He asked, knowing the answer full well, but trying to drive the point home for her.

She shook her head.

"Did it still feel amazing?"

She gave him a timid grin at first, but then nodded enthusiastically. The gesture made him chuckle. It didn't matter that they were married, that she was straddling his waist, and that there wasn't a scrap of fabric between then, she still managed to retain a bit of shyness around him when they talked about stuff like this.

"Well then, that's all I care about," he told her.

". . . But what about the wet spot?" She asked, biting her lower lip.

"It'll dry before the chambermaids come in to change the sheets. I'm not worried about it."

He scooted both of them over on their enormous four-poster bed so that they were no longer on top of the same damp spot. "There. Problem solved," he told her as he laid both of them back down on the side of the bed that hadn't been warmed by the body heat they had generated.

She shivered as she pushed her body closer to his and he ran his hands up and down her sides, trying to warm her up.

Running his calloused fingers over her soft skin was causing his own body to react and he suspected it was having the same effect on hers because she lifted her head and captured his lips. She kissed him hard, with an urgency he had been hoping to work his way up to, but hadn't expected quite yet. She ran her lithe fingers through his thick hair and moaned into his mouth so that the room and the outside world and everything that wasn't him and her faded into the background. Soon they were too preoccupied to worry about unexpected wet spots and impromptu anatomy lessons.

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**Prompt: **"Flynn makes Rapunzel squirt, timeline or universe is in hands of the writer."

**AN1:** This was _not_ my head cannon; this was a prompt from livejournal. There's a reason I didn't put the prompt at the beginning of the story, I didn't think you'd read it if I had. My initial reaction was _um_, no thanks; moving along, nothing to see here. But then I thought about it more and realized that the prompt offered a unique comfort / hurt scenario I hadn't seen addressed in fan fic before so I ran with it.

**AN2:** When I'm not familiar with a topic I'm writing about, I usually start with Wikipedia and the article on this particular topic said that many women who experience this feel ashamed, avoid sex, and even go so far as to have surgery to correct this "problem." It made me quite sad, actually. It made me think that those women didn't have very supportive partners. Sex is chock-full of funny, embarrassing, or awkward moments. You shouldn't have to turn celibate or get surgery to avoid something you don't really have any control over and isn't wrong, just uncommon. Just my two cents.

**AN3:** This story will be a series of drabbles. They will mostly be prompt fills. If you're interested, I'd be happy to take prompt requests here or on my **jmetropolis** tumblr. I want to finish **Disclosure**, update **Strands**, and finish that **Inked** one-shot for **Jade1994**, so I'll probably come back to these drabbles intermittently when I have time. Please take the time to read, review, fave and follow.


	2. The Runaway

**Title: **The Runaway  
**Rating: **K+  
**Word Count: **1,731  
**Prompter:** Wolfram-and-Hart-Sauron

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**The Runaway**

Eugene Fitzherbert had just about had it with life at the orphanage. He was sick of being poor, he was sick of being hungry and most of all he couldn't stand the injustice. He was mad and he wasn't going to take it anymore. He didn't need them. He didn't need anyone he thought, as he wiped his nose on his mended sleeve. He could take care of himself. He was better off on his own anyway. He wouldn't have to share his cot or his threadbare blanket with anyone anymore.

The tears that were creating trails down his dirty cheeks were blurring his vision and he tripped over the exposed root of a large oak tree. He felt the sting immediately and even though it was dark he could tell he skinned his knees. Eugene sat under the oak tree crying in earnest now as he thought back to the miserable day he'd had.

It wasn't even his fault. Stupid Billy Cohan had pushed him into the girls' lavatory. He didn't know Margret Spencer was taking a bath in there. The girl with red pigtails let out a blood curling scream when their eyes. He certainly didn't want to be there. _Blech! _Girls were disgusting.

The headmaster was furious with him. The shape of his round head had always reminded Eugene of a tomato, but now he had the coloring to match. As he was being yelled at, Eugene began to wonder if he would see smoke come out of the man's ears. Then he got sent to his room without supper, not that he was wild about the food at the orphanage, but he was really starting to feel the hunger pangs now. That wasn't even the worst part. The worst part was when Margret Spencer had called him a pervert in front of everyone and then one of the more obnoxious kids had realized the word rhymed with his last name, so they began taunting him to a chorus of "Eugene FitzPervert." _Ugh!_ He hated his name. As soon as he could, he was going to change it.

Eugene had dozed off under the oak tree when he heard what sounded like a baby crying. The wails startled him and he pushed himself closer to the bark of the tree trunk. Maybe it was an injured animal. He was in the forest at night; he knew there were no babies in the forest.

Then he heard a cold, mean voice that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.

"_Hush_ Rapunzel! Will you stop with the crying. When I get you to the tower I'm going to shut you in the closet until you learn to shut up."

Eugene balled up his fist. The way this woman talked to the baby was cruel and he knew from his books she must be a witch. Only witches were mean to innocent babies. He forgot all about being scared and started following the tall woman wearing a crimson cape. She had an oil lamp in one hand and a baby basket in the other. It wasn't hard following her, the baby was making so much noise he didn't have worry about being detected if he stepped on a twig.

The woman was much too large for Eugene to confront her, but he knew he had to get the baby away from her. She was callous and she said she was going to shut her up in a closet.

Eugene picked up a rock. He'd brought his slingshot with him; he had planned on running away for good and had taken the only worldly possession he could carry. His books were too heavy and they technically belonged to the orphanage. Even though he used them more than anyone else, he wasn't comfortable with the idea of stealing. He was a pretty good aim and he thought if he aimed for her head, he might be able to distract her long enough to take the baby.

Just as he was getting ready to take his aim, the woman sat down on a rock. Sighing exhaustedly, she placed the basket carrying the baby on the ground next to her.

Eugene dropped the sling shot and grabbed the baby. The woman turned around and let out a horrible scream.

"_Stop_! _Thief_! Come back here with my _flower_!"

The woman ran after them, but Eugene was small enough to slide under fallen trees and maneuver his way through or around the bushes.

When he was sure he'd escaped the evil witch's clutches, he took cover behind a large mossy rock so he could catch his breath. He looked down at the bundle in his arms. She had the softest, longest blonde hair he'd ever seen on a baby. The babies at the orphanage were either bald or had short curls, cropped close to their heads. She had a big head and giant green eyes the color of grass which looked up at him with curiosity. Now that they had escaped the witch, she had stopped crying. She gurgled at him in a way that made Eugene laugh.

He had been so preoccupied with saving her from that evil witch, that he hadn't thought about what he would do with her now that he had her. _Wasn't that what the headmaster was always yelling at him about? _He never thought things through. He always acted on instinct, on impulse and never thought about the consequences. It was exactly this kind of thinking, or lack of thinking, that always landed him in the headmaster's office.

He didn't know what he was going to do with a baby. He thought about heading back and taking her to the orphanage. There were babies like her there and the headmaster would know what to do with her. But the thought of going back to that place made his stomach drop. It was dirty and loud and some of the other kids weren't very nice. He didn't want that for her. She seemed like a nice baby. He couldn't do that to her. He decided that he was going to keep her. He'd never wanted a little sister, so he wasn't keen on the idea of her being one, but he had always wanted a dog. Maybe she would be more like a pet. He would feed her and take care of her and she would keep him company. The idea was starting to grow on him. They would go on adventures together, fight pirates and save damsels in distress, just like in his books.

Eugene looked down at his new sidekick and twisted his young face in disgust when the baby he was carry suddenly stuck one of her small bare feet in her mouth and began sucking on it. He quickly straightened his features when he remembered what the cook always told him. _You're going to stay that way if you keep making that face_, she would say to him in the lunch line as she scooped up some gruel and plopped it on his plate. _Yech! _He bet dirt tasted better than that thin slop that passed for food at the orphanage.

Just then a group of soldiers on horseback surrounded him and he protectively clutched the baby closer to him. A man with a gold-plated breastplate and a black mustache that resembled a cleaning brush pointed an accusatory finger at Eugene.

"That boy!" The man said. "He's got the princess."

Eugene rolled his eyes. He knew all about princess. They were in the books he read. Princesses were beautiful and wore crowns and fancy jewels and big, puffy pink dressed and they got rescued a lot by his hero, Flynnagain Rider. "There's no princess here." He explained. "She's just a baby."

But the men wouldn't listen to him. One of them took the baby from him and when he tried to take her back an enormous white horse came round him and picked him up by the scuff of his collar so that he feet were now several inches off the ground.

"Hey! Let me go!" He protested, but no one was paying attention to him, they were all fussing over the baby.

Just then he heard a rustle and saw a green light move behind the bushes; he recognized it as the oil lamp the cruel woman had been carrying. He saw a hand drop the lamp and run into the darkness of the forest.

"Let me go!" He struggled. "Hurry up! The witch is getting away!"

The guards ignored Eugene's pleas as they talked amongst themselves about who should send word to the king that they had found the lost princess and the young boy hung helplessly from the collar of his shirt in the jaws of the great white beast.

Eugene groaned. He realized then that the guards were a bunch of idiots.

In the end, they decided that the Captain would take the princess back to her parents and some guy named Conli would return Eugene to the orphanage.

###

He stayed up late scrubbing the toilets while everyone else had gone to bed. That was the punishment that the headmaster had handed out to him for running away. It didn't matter that he had saved the princess. No one would've believed him anyways. They would think it was another fantastical tale from his favorite book. Stupid Billy Cohan had thumbed his nose and stuck his tongue out at Eugene behind the headmaster's portly back as the old man doled out his sentence. Eugene focused on keeping a stony face, even though he wanted to punch the freckles off of Billy's piggish nose. He wasn't going to cry in front of Billy. Not this time, not anymore. He wasn't going to show anyone how he really felt anymore. It just gave people like Billy fodder to use against him. From now on he was going to keep his emotions close to his vest and not share them with anyone.

As he pushed a mop whose wooden handle had grown slippery and smooth from years of use across the honeycombed floor of the boys' lavatory he stopped for a minute to look outside the window. There, at the very top of the hillside, he saw the castle illuminated by torches. He thought of the baby that he now knew lived inside there and tried to imagine what it would be like living inside those majestic marble walls. He decided right then and there that he would live in a castle when he grew up.

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**Prompt: **On the night Rapunzel is kidnapped, little Eugene runs into a woman and a baby in the forest.

**AN1: **Poor Little!Eugene really needs a hug in this one. I'm half tempted to write a sequel where they meet as adults in the village square, so Rapunzel can make his life better. **Wolfram-and-Hart-Sauron**, thank you for the prompt. I loved the story idea and I hope you end up writing a multi-chapter fic about it. I'd love to read your take on it.

**AN2:** I wrote this pretty quickly so I may make some edits during the week, but I don't think it will be substantive. If anyone else has a writing prompt, please send it along. Thanks!

**AN3:** Thank you Guest reviewer for pointing out that spelling mistake. See, I fixed it. Also, I love your drunk!Eugene prompt, I hope I can do it justice. *Rubs hands together and grins evilly*


	3. Tipsy

**Title:** Tipsy  
**Rating:** T  
**Word Count:** 2,450  
**Prompter: **Anonymous reviewer

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**Tipsy**

Eugene had stayed up late playing Backgammon with the King in one of the palace's many spacious parlors. Except the King had tinkered with the rules of the game and had turned it into a sort of drinking contest. Every time one of them rolled the dice, they took shots of whiskey until they had made a good dent in the King's reserves. They carried on like this for hours, losing track of time and losing track of who was winning. They joked and trash-talked about who would drink who under the table, only in Eugene's case, it was more like respectful taunting. Although the atmosphere was jovial and friendly and the King seemed genuinely fond of him, this was, after all, his girlfriend's father and the man who had signed his death warrant; the former thief still didn't feel entirely at ease around his sovereign. _Your knees are starting to look kinda wobbly, Fitzherbert. You sure you set foot in a pub before? I'm starting to think you're a lightweight. It'd be a shame if I have call the Captain in here to finish the rest of that bottle for you_, the King had joshed. It was all fun and games until one of the servants came in to retrieve the monarch and assist him in retiring for the night.

Eugene was offered no such escort and he was left to his own devices in finding his way back to his room in his inebriated state. The task was made considerably more difficult because the walls and the floor kept spinning around him.

As he wandered around the dark halls of the palace looking for the misplaced grand staircase that lead to the residential quarters, he was half tempted to go to Blondie's room and pay her a visit. Sure she'd be asleep by now, but she wouldn't mind if he woke her up. She loved surprises and maybe she would be so overjoyed at his unexpected and thoughtful visit that she would reward him with a kiss. He smiled stupidly as he imagined the kiss that awaited him. He swayed precariously back and forth as he made his way down another seemingly interminable empty corridor. _Yes, it's a good plan_, he thought, mentally patting himself on the back for coming up with such an ingenious idea.

It suddenly dawned on him as he turned the corner and came across the same elaborate tapestry of a lady petting a unicorn he has just passed moments ago, that there was one small problem with his brilliant plan. There was no one he could stop and ask for directions to the princess' bed chambers. It was well past midnight and the normally bustling castle was a ghost town at this late hour. He'd snuck into her room dozens of times, of course. It's just at the moment, the layout of the place seemed kinda murky.

He got mixed up and turned around so many times that he was half tempted to abandon his excursion to his beloved's room and just sleep on the floor that lay beneath his boots. Even the cold, hard marble was starting to look comfortable under his increasingly heavy legs and weighted down eyelids. Someone would find him in the morning and show him to his room. He'd slept in worse places than the richly decorated corridors of the palace, he reasoned.

He was about to do just that when he spotted her. She was sitting on a stone bench in front of the fountain in the courtyard garden. Under the moonlight, she looked like an angel. Her hair had a silvery sheen to it and it seemed longer than usual, but Eugene would recognize those gorgeous emerald eyes anywhere. He opened the double glass doors that led out to the central courtyard and somehow managed to ambulate over to her, plopping himself down beside her. She jumped up startled as he put an arm around her, bringing her closer to him until their hips touched.

She gave him an affronted look, like he'd never held her like this before or something. Normally, his affectionate princess would be sitting on his lap in no time. He shrugged and gave her a goofy smile. He figured she hadn't expected to meet up with him and she might not have recognized him with only the light from the moon illuminating the garden.

"It's okay Blondie. It's just me," he assured her. At least that's what he thought he sounded like in his head. His tongue felt swollen, like it was too big for his mouth and he may have slurred a few words.

"Eugene!" She protested the familiarity in his touch and attempted to create some distance between them by trying to scoot to the opposite end of the stone bench. He tightened his grip. She was in a feisty mood tonight, maybe it was the full moon, he thought.

"Relax, Blondie. Your parents aren't going to walk in on us. Your dad's plastered and I haven't seen your mom since dinner. It looks like we've got the place all to ourselves." He assured her in a low and rumbly voice as he waggled his eyebrows at her provocatively. "You know . . . we could carry on where we left off this morning," he suggested, his meaning as clear as water and as sultry as a mid-summer's day.

"Mr. Fitzherbert, really!"

"Mr. Fitzherbert?" He furrowed his eyebrows in confusion for a moment and then he grinned at her wolfishly. "You've never called me that before. It sounds so . . . _formal_. Is this one of our games? Shall I call you Princess?" His wicked smile broadened.

"_Eugene_," she said indignantly, smoothing out the invisible wrinkles on the skirt of her long dress, "I'm afraid you are mistaken, I'm not - -"

He held a hand out to silence her and the woman's eyes grew so large they looked like they might fall out. It was as if no one had ever _dared_ to make that gesture to her before.

"Look. I know things have gotten hot and heavy between us lately, but there's more to it than just that. I've had a few drinks tonight and I should probably wait until I'm sober to tell you this, but there's something I should've said to you back when we were still in the tower."

His playful mood turned serious as he spoke and then he looked into her eyes. "I know I told you you were my new dream, but what I had meant to tell you was that I love you. I love you more than words could say and if I had to die for you, I'd do it over again because somewhere between the tower and the kingdom you stole my heart."

She looked flushed and embarrassed like she'd just eavesdropped on a very private conversation. Not quite able to meet his eyes, she patted him on the back.

"Come on, Eugene. Let's go find your room before you say anything else you'll regret in the morning," she said as she pulled him off the bench and put her slender shoulder under his arm for support.

###

The next morning, Eugene woke up with a splitting headache. He felt like something you'd find on the floor of Maximus' stable. As bad as he physically felt, he felt even worse moments later when bits and pieces of last night's foray into the palace garden started trickling in. _Oh no. No, no, no, no, no. This is bad. This is very, very bad. This is really bad. _Eugene slumped down in his bed when he recalled his run in with the Queen. He threw the covers over his head when he thought about how he'd poured his heart out to her thinking she was Rapunzel. But, the worst part, _oh man_, the worst part was when he had tried to kiss her on their walk to his room. Thank goodness the Queen had unexpectedly quick reflexes and he had ended up planting one on the cool marble of a support column instead. And he didn't even want to _think_ about the logistics of how he ended up in the nightshirt he was wearing. Eugene began to seriously ponder whether anyone had ever died of embarrassment and felt a pang of disappointment when he couldn't think of a single instance.

His second option - hiding inside his room forever - quickly receded when his industrious valet walked in, took one look at him and shook his head like a stern, disapproving school teacher. He quickly got Eugene cleaned up and dressed, making no attempt to hide his disgust at the state his master was in and seeing that Eugene was in no condition to be left unsupervised, let out an exasperated sigh as he deposited the young man not so gingerly into his seat at the breakfast table at half-past eight. Rather than avoiding breakfast all together, Eugene had made a conspicuous entrance by being the last person in the room to be seated.

Holding himself upright was a challenge as he tried not to slump in his chair, so was not falling face first into the tureen one of the servants had thoughtfully placed on the table in front of him, but above all else, Eugene's biggest challenge was to avoid eye contact with the Queen at all costs.

While voices swirled around him, he stared into his porridge. It wasn't hard, his eyeballs felt like they were made of lead and he felt sharp little electrical currents of pain every time he tried to lift them more than half way. Everything was bright and loud and most of all painful. It was like someone had turned the volume up on the whole world.

He felt Blondie's small hand run down his arm and squeeze his fingers. He instinctively took her hand in his larger one. He looked up at her through bleary eyes and she smiled at him sympathetically. She was sweet and innocent and beautiful. And he loved her like he'd never loved anyone or anything in his entire life. But that only added a layer of guilt to his mounting pile of discomfort. He'd been hungover in front of her before. When she was reunited with her parents, the Kingdom had celebrated for an entire week and the reason he couldn't remember most of it was because he'd spent a good portion of it passed out drunk.

It had been a lot to take in: falling in love, almost being executed, then dying, then coming back to life, then meeting your girl's parents who also happened to be the rulers of the land. He may have tried to find comfort at the bottom of a bottle of scotch. Going from captured thief to the King's honored guest in a span of less than 24 hours was enough to make any guy's head spin. But that had been months ago and he had since adjusted to his new life, for the most part. Last night's state of intoxication was entirely different. He'd made a total ass of himself in front of her mother. He'd said too much. He'd spoken too freely and now he was thoroughly embarrassed.

"Son," the king's voice boomed from across the massive oak table. "You don't look so good this morning," he chuckled. Eugene forced himself to look up at his monarch and managed a feeble smile that quickly turned into a painful wince. He noticed the corners of the king's stately blue eyes crease as he beamed at him from the other end of the room. Eugene had noticed that look on the King's face before, that misplaced, fatherly pride that made Eugene feel kind of funny inside, like he'd swallowed something warm and fuzzy. It was that look that made him feel like he was accepted and welcomed, like he was part of a family for the first time in his life.

Eugene breathed a sigh of relief. The fact that the King was in good spirits and joking around with him this morning was a good sign. It told him that the Queen hadn't shared with her husband the more salacious details of their moonlit conversation last night. Alluding to the alone time he'd spent with her daughter was something no parent wanted to hear and Eugene wished he'd spared the Queen that bit of too much information. He and Rapunzel hadn't ventured too far into amorous realms. They mostly canoodled in the rare instances they found themselves unattended or when he regularly snuck into her room. While he tried to keep his hands respectfully above her waist, hers tended to wander, uninhibited by preconceived notions of propriety and decorum.

Still, Eugene felt a sudden rush of gratitude toward the Queen. She'd had the grace to keep this newly disclosed information between the two of them. _Rapunzel has a good mother_, he thought with a smile. _Her real mother; not the witch who raised her_, he quickly amended as his hand subconsciously migrated to his right flank where miraculously there wasn't so much as a scratch where the blade had entered his body.

He tentatively allowed himself to glance up at the Queen. The elegant woman caught his gaze and gave him a stern look that said his time with her daughter would be strictly supervised from now on until he got his act together and married her, not that Eugene was thinking of marriage yet or anything. He grinned at her sheepishly; the expression on his face was more reminiscent of a repentant boy, than a grown man. And then she cracked. She gave him a warm, motherly smile that said he could trust her, that she would guard his secrets, and that all was forgiven. In a series of glances, without uttering a single word to each other, they'd made up.

He loved this woman. He really did. He loved her for extending her hand out to him that first day out on the balcony. She had welcomed him into her family with open arms, even back then when he had been a total stranger to her and worse, a wanted thief. At the moment, he loved her for not ratting him out to her husband. It meant he would be keeping all his anatomical parts - - his head and other appendages he was equally fond of. He loved her so much, he could kiss her. And then he remembered he almost had. _Ugh!_ Eugene found himself wishing the parquet floor under his shiny black boots would open up and swallow him whole. Although he and the Queen had made amends, it was going to take a long time before he lived this one down.

* * *

******Prompt:** Eugene gets drunk one night and stumbles around the castle looking for Rapunzel to talk about their relationship. Instead, he finds the queen and since she and Rapunzel look alike, he ends up pouring his heart out to her because he's too drunk to tell the difference.

**AN:** Thank you guest reviewer for this prompt. I had a lot of fun writing it. Those of you who submitted earlier prompts, I haven't forgotten about you. This one was just quicker to fill.


	4. Bedside Manner

**Title:** Bedside Manner  
**Rating:** M  
**Word Count:** 5,442  
**Prompter: **An Unknown Foreign Beauty

* * *

She'd had a million and one things to do today, but she'd delegated them all without a second thought. The love of her life, no matter how pigheaded, was still her first priority.

She may have been the crown princess, but she wasn't the queen yet. Her father was still relatively young for a monarch and thankfully he was in excellent health. As long as he was still able to rule over the small island nation, her calendar was filled with less pressing matters like judging the geranium contest at this afternoon's flower show, attending the groundbreaking ceremony for the construction of the kingdom's new orphanage, cracking a bottle of champagne over the bow of a new ship in the wharf, and preparing a speech honoring the Corona Cartography Society at next month's cotillion.

These were not unimportant things. They mattered deeply to the people who were involved in them and they mattered to her as well. A lot of time and effort had gone into them, but her mother could easily fill in for her while she tended to matters she could not so easily delegate, like taking care of her sick husband. _Husband_. The newness of the word sent a thrill through her all the way down to her very toes whenever she thought of it and of the handsome young suitor who, through patience, hard work and self-sacrifice, had rightfully earned that title. She was not yet accustomed to this new living arrangement called marriage, but as far as she could tell it was sheer, unadulterated bliss.

The marriage ceremony had taken place at the beginning of the month, but the honeymoon tour would have to wait until the cherry blossoms in the nearby countryside were in full bloom because Rapunzel had her heart set on seeing them. In the meantime, the kingdom was still abuzz with what had been dubbed by many as the wedding of the century, overlooking a few minor hiccups, of course. Maximus, the captain's horse was still a bit sensitive about that pink dress he'd inadvertently worn to the ceremony, and the shoes, and the matching hat and makeup. He'd already received more than his fare share of ribbing from the other horses in the King's guard and had been the subject of much snickering among the townspeople. True to the maxim that no good deed goes unpunished, that had been the thanks the noble white stallion had got for his valiant and heroic efforts to retrieve the gold wedding bands emblazoned with the kingdom's sun emblem that the princess and her beloved now wore on their left ring fingers, rings that had belonged to the Queen's long-deceased grandmother and had symbolize the happy union of antecedent royal couples since the dawn of the monarchy.

The princess had warned her rogue about needling the poor beleaguered steed, but the man whose face had been plastered all over the kingdom's wanted posters couldn't help himself. He had happily hung up his satchel and given up his thieving ways for her, but teasing was ingrained in his very nature, like spots on a leopard. As a result, he'd found himself picked up by the collar of his black leather vest and pitched head first into the cold river yesterday evening on what otherwise would've been a pleasant outing. After silently enduring a fortnight's worth of torment with a stiff upper lip, Eugene's jab had been the proverbial straw that broke the horse's back.

Rapunzel had thought that her newly minted prince consort was being a baby when he'd started shivering almost immediately upon reaching the riverbank and getting out of the frigid water. Being exposed to the cool night air didn't help matters and he'd begun complaining of a sore throat on their long walk back to the kingdom. Dripping wet, the sound of squelchy boots followed them all the way home. Perhaps he should've thought twice before insulting their sole means of transportation, she had reminded him.

But by the time they arrived at the palace, they'd hatched a plan. Having concurred that it was probably best if Eugene avoided the aggrieved ungulate for the time being lest he find himself landing on less forgiving and more solid surfaces, Rapunzel walked over to the stables alone to try to smooth things over with Max while Eugene went up to their bedroom to shed his wet clothes and take a warm bath.

In the past, she might have lingered in the stables enjoying Max's company, feeding him apples and rubbing the tops of his ears. But she'd been an unwed maiden then and there was something about the light that shone through the glass double doors of her balcony that stroked certain embers, that beckoned her home to a warm bed and an even warmer embrace. Its pull was no less strong than the lanterns had been.

Her pace was hurried as she eagerly made her way to the palace, to what had been her old room, but was now shared quarters. As she passed the guards on their nightly patrol along the perimeter of the parapets, she felt immensely grateful for the cover of a moonless night. She felt flush not just from her quick steps, but from the thoughts of strange and wondrous nighttime rituals she'd only recently discovered and she was certain her face betrayed her innermost longings.

She had expected Eugene to be waiting up for her, to set her aflame before sending her off to dreamland the way he had each night of their nascent marriage. Instead, she'd found him tucked underneath a mountain of bedcovers, his soft, even breaths indicative of a deep slumber. She'd been longing to be alone with him all day and felt a pang of disappointment well up in her throat as she snuffed out the candle that had summoned her home and climbed into bed beside him.

She'd felt put out when Eugene fell asleep without so much as a good night's kiss. She'd been mildly annoyed when she'd woken up in the dead of the night to his cacophony of hoarse coughs, but she didn't truly start to worry until the predawn hours when he'd cried out her name in a blood curdling scream that had her sitting up in bed in a matter seconds.

He was having a bad dream, that much was obvious, and she didn't need to be a mind reader to know what the dream was about. There was no mistaking the desperation in his voice or the manner with which he beseeched her to save herself and to forget about him, as if that were even possible. She knew exactly where and when she'd heard him cry out to her like that before. His pleas brought back a flood of memories she always tried to suppress and it caused her heart to try to beat its way out of her chest to be closer to him.

It was with tears streaming down her face that she had tried to shake him out of his nightmare. It was then that she felt it. He was burning up under her small hands and when he wouldn't wake from his fever-induced delirium no matter how hard she begged him, she'd almost fallen out of their tall four-poster bed in her haste to fetch the palace physician.

She'd caught her breath only after she'd returned and while the doctor examined a still unresponsive Eugene, she'd stood in a dark corner of the room gripped with fear and trepidation. She wasn't sure how long she stood there, rooted to that spot on the floor in a space that just a few hours ago felt warm and inviting, but had grown cold and cavernous. She watched the doctor intently as he took out various glass vials, instruments and sponges from his black leather medical case. At one point, he'd summoned a maid to bring bowls of lukewarm water. He had worked tirelessly and when he finished the patient was still unconscious, but his temperature was normal now and he was no longer talking in his sleep.

Eugene had grown quiet now, like he'd done once before in her tower when he'd become silent, then cold and lifeless in her arms. Rapunzel blinked back tears, just the mere memory of that terrible moment had her heart seizing in her chest and she felt herself tremble. It was only then that she realized that in her mad rush to find the doctor, she'd forgotten to wear a robe over her thin night shift. She took the warm chenille throw off the back of the nearby antique loveseat and wrapped it around her shoulders like a shawl, but it did little to ease her shivering. She leaned against the back wall for support and tried not to think of the long-gone golden locks that had once been able to remedy all manner of ailments.

The doctor said it had been just a fever induced hallucination and that while they should certainly keep an eye on Eugene to make sure things did not deteriorate, the young royal's condition could be treated with medicine, a cold compress, and copious amounts of rest. After assuring her that he'd be back in the morning to check up on the patient, the doctor retreated leaving the formerly lost princess alone with her thoughts and her sick husband.

Rapunzel kept a watchful vigil over the man who'd freed her from invisible shackles. Following the doctor's instructions dutifully, she laid out porcelain bowls of water on the balcony just outside their bedroom. She'd walk out onto the balcony and dip a compress into the cold water before walking the cool rag back into the bedroom and pressing it against his damp, warm forehead. She repeated the process continuously, fearful that his temperature might spike up again and she would feel short-haired and helpless once more.

###

When morning came, the doctor returned and found Rapunzel in much the same position he'd left her, perched over the bed keeping watch over the sleeping form of a handsome young man. Her mother came in soon after. The Queen embraced her daughter immediately and expressed worry over Eugene. When she commented on the dark shadows under the princess' eyes it was with genuine concern for her and not a petty comment about her looks intended to put her down the way Gothel had done for as long as Rapunzel could remember.

As the morning wore on, she once again found herself alone with Eugene. The doctor was summoned to the scene of an oxcart accident near the bridge and her mother had insisted on taking over Rapunzel's duties as well as her own. In the light of day, however, things seemed much less dire than in the hours before the sun had come up. Eugene had woken up a few times and he'd even eaten some of his breakfast. While he continued to mutter in his sleep, it no longer frightened her. He talked all manner of nonsense referring to his satchel and his smolder and even mentioned the purchase of an island. Unlike last night's terror, Rapunzel discovered that her husband's silly mutterings had put her at ease; she even caught herself giggling. As long as he was talking, even if he was just talking in his sleep, it meant he wasn't fading away.

She had sat by his bedside all morning. Occasionally, she'd put the quill and paper she was holding down on the nightstand so she could check on him. She would carefully peer over the mound of blankets over his left shoulder and brushed the soft, chestnut bangs off of his forehead before pressing her lips on the spot she'd just cleared leaving behind a kiss. It wasn't the way the doctor had taken Eugene's temperature, but she found she enjoyed it just the same. As she checked his temperature in this manner, she took a moment to admire the sleeping form beneath her hands. She recalled how he had once bragged to her about being born with superhuman good looks and at this moment she couldn't disagree with that assessment.

Even in sleep he was beautiful. His bangs fell effortlessly over his face and the tips of his dark, thick lashes brushed against his strong cheekbones. The patch of stubble that now accompanied his goatee along his strong, square jaw seemed to emphasize their differences. While she was all softness and round curves, he was composed of straight lines and hard angles. She'd never seen a man more devastatingly handsome and she found herself growing warmer.

Seeing him resting like this under a bundle of bedcovers, he seemed innocent, almost angelic and Rapunzel couldn't help but take pity on him. Even if the position he found himself in now was entirely his own doing, she didn't feel right leaving him in the capable hands of the palace staff. It wasn't like she would've been able to go about her day knowing that he was here, in their bed, feeling miserable. She'd worry about him; as it was, thoughts of him often crept into her mind even when he was the picture of health. The memory of those smoldering amber eyes, that roughish lopsided grin, often drove her to distraction. And now that he was ill and there was genuine cause for concern, she would've been able to concentrate on little else today. So it was just as well that she'd agreed to send her mother in her stead while she stayed behind playing nurse to her knocked-out cold husband. The people loved their queen, so they wouldn't be too disappointed if they got to see her instead of their now found princess.

While Eugene continued his undisturbed slumber, she managed to bathe and get dressed and pen most of the introduction to next month's speech. She realized while writing this portion of the speech that she knew very little about the cartographers who would be honored with a ball. She supposed she should mention important details; her speech should include significant contributions, the undertaking of new projects and as well as tidbits about prominent members. She didn't know any of these things, so she snuck out to the library to borrow several atlases and a couple of history books.

When she returned, she quietly tiptoed into the bedroom and gently closed the door behind her with a bare foot. If he'd woken up in her absence, the room didn't show it. Everything was exactly as she had left it. His soft, even breathing greeted her as she walked softly towards the large four poster bed. Careful not to knock over any of the vials of medicine and the empty soup tureen that had held his lunch, she placed the books she was carrying down on the polished mahogany nightstand beside him.

She sat down next to him and he didn't even shift when the mattress dipped under her slight weight. She surveyed the items on the nightstand and picked up an elegant little glass jar among the other medicines that she had failed to notice earlier. Twisting the lid off and bringing it up to her nose, she inhaled deeply. She could tell by the way her own nose had twitched in response that the contents of the little glass jar were meant to clear the nasal passageways. The bluish-white gelatinous balm smelled of peppermint and tea tree and chamomile. It wasn't an unpleasant smell so much as it was an odd combination of strong odors, each trying to overpower the other. It smelled familiar to her, but she couldn't quite place where she'd smelled this scent before.

She returned the little jar on the nightstand for a moment while she removed the cold compress from her husband's forehead so she could press her lips there and gauge his temperature. She breathed a sigh of relief when he felt cool to the touch. She supposed she should apply the medicine from the little glass jar since she had overlooked it earlier when she gave him his other medicines this morning. She could think worse ways to spend her afternoon than running her fingers through her husband's firm, chiseled chest. As for that speech, she would pick up where she left off as soon as she tended to Eugene. He'd slept most of the morning and she expected he would sleep through the rest of the afternoon.

She unbuttoned the top six buttons of his nightshirt with nervous fingers, removing articles of clothing had been Eugene's domain in the short time since doffing in front of each other had become a nightly ritual. Even though he was asleep and she was the only other person in the room she still blushed furiously at the sight of his bare chest. The few times she'd dared to look at him without his shirt, it had been nighttime and the glow of candlelight which he had insisted remain on casted shadows over the coils of muscles that lay under his skin. Now that the room was bathed in sunlight, there was nothing to shield her view. Rapunzel quickly decided that it was impolite to stare and looked away as she dipped her fingers into the little jar.

She was about to slather the thick balm onto his chest when large fingers encircled her wrists. Rapunzel gasped in surprised. Then she sighed. She should've known he wasn't really asleep. Eugene was a light sleeper, she knew that now, and while he was no longer a thief, he still had a thief's quick reflexes.

"And just where do you think you're going with that?" He inquired, maintaining a firm grip on her wrists while gesturing with his bearded chin towards the minty gel that glistened on her delicate fingers.

"It's your medicine. I was going to rub it onto your chest." She responded haughtily, annoyed that he'd interrupted her. She had been looking forward to exploring the mysterious contours of his chest with her fingers, even if her eyes had lost their nerve and looked away.

"I can see that. What's it for?"

"I suppose it's to relieve congestion." She sighed as she tugged on her confines experimentally, testing the firmness of his grip. "It'll make you feel better."

Perhaps sensing his wife's frustration, he began to tease her in a misguided effort to put her at ease.

"You know what I think, Blondie?"

"What?"

"I think you're just trying to cop a feel."

"I am _not_!" Her quick, curt response was all the confirmation he needed.

"Can't say I blame you. I'm pretty irresistible." He waggled his eyebrows at her.

"I believe the word you're looking for is arrogant." She huffed.

"Well that's true, too. Anyhow, I don't need medicine. I feel great. _Stupendous_, even."

"You feel fine _now_, but last night you were burning up." She tried yanking her wrists away from him, but the slack he had given her before tightened.

"Give me back my hands." She protested. "It's for your own good. Doctor -"

"I don't care what Dr. Fuddy-duddy says -"

"Don't call him that, Eugene. You know he hates it when you call him that." In her frustration to free her hands she too resorted to name calling, "Eugene Fitzherbert, you're acting like a petulant child."

"Flattery will get you nowhere, princess. Besides, think about the ding to my reputation as a dashing former rogue if I let you slather this smelly stuff on me. What would people say if word got out that I smell like someone's grandpa?"

It was then that she realized what the smell of the medicine in the little glass jar had reminded her of, it reminded her of her visits to the old persons' rest home.

Rapunzel groaned. He could be so stubborn sometimes. He'd been so much easier to deal with when he was unconscious. It made her almost long for her frying pan. Still, there was something about the firmness of his grip that made her pulse quicken. There was something decidedly male about the way in which his rough calloused hands easily trapped her narrow wrists. It made her conscious of how much stronger he was than her.

They struggled like this until they both acknowledged the impasse of the situation. Eugene would not let go of her wrists because he knew the minute he did she would slather the medicine all over him and Rapunzel would not stop tugging her arms because sooner or later, he'd have to let go of them.

She cheeks were flushed for entirely different reasons now; she was angry and winded. The struggle with this obstinate man had caused her chest to rise and fall against her corset as she strained to catch her breath. It had caused other changes in Eugene as well, but she was too distracted glaring at him to notice.

"I'm prepared to offer you a deal." He said, mimicking the words she'd once used on him when she tried to get him to take her to see the floating lights.

She could tell he was feeling much better, his tone was playful and she went along with it. His words had piqued her interest and she momentarily forgot all about the hands that shackled her. "Oh? What kind of a deal?"

"I'll let you slather this lady-repellant on me." He gestured toward the glass jar on the nightstand. "But I get to decide _where_."

His wide, wicked grin left no doubt in her mind as to where he wanted her to place her hands. Shocked by his suggestion, Rapunzel met his eyes for a second, then quickly dropped her gaze in embarrassment, realizing her mistake too late. She had planned on studying the purple cross-stitch pattern on the bedcovers only to discover that the blankets were not laying flat across his hips the way they should've been, the way they had been when she had been trying to free her hands from his hold. She blushed furiously attempting to settle her gaze any which way but down. After several tries, her eyes focused on the intricate sun carvings on the wooden headboard that weren't obscured by his head. She looked around him, but refused to look at him.

Perhaps sensing that he'd pushed his new bride too far, he backpedaled. "Alright. How about if I let you slather this stuff on my _chest_, but you'll agree to take off your dress first."

"My dress?" She squeaked. Her throat suddenly felt too dry and she could feel her already blushing cheeks grow hotter at the suggestion.

"Sure. It's not for _my_ benefit." He said in his most innocent voice. "You wouldn't want to get any of that guck on that beautiful gown of yours."

Rapunzel swallowed thickly. She chanced a look at his face. His delivery had been casual, but the smile he gave her was much too pleased with himself and there was a twinkle in his warm, caramel-colored eyes that hinted at just how dangerously persuasive he could be when he set his mind to it.

She supposed it would be a shame to spoil her pretty dress, and she couldn't possibly go through with his other suggestion, not without turning beet red and dying of mortification. Besides, it wasn't as if she wasn't wearing anything underneath.

"Fine," she responded. But when his practiced hands wrapped themselves around her narrow waist and began unlacing the ties at the back of her dress, she flinched.

"Eugene, wait. What are you doing?"

"Your hands are covered in that stuff. I just thought you'd want my help removing your dress." For a moment he looked hurt, but he quickly recovered and flashed her a boyish grin she could only suppose had been the undoing of many an unlucky woman.

"Alight," she responded and he resumed his work.

Rapunzel's heart was pounding. As his arms reached around her and unlaced her bodice she could feel his warm breath on the hallow of her neck. It made her skin prickle with anticipation. She was still getting used to this, this physical closeness they now shared. This was still too new, too novel for her to react as casually to it as Eugene did. She craved his touch, she really did. She'd felt so disappointed last night when he'd fallen asleep before she made it back to their room. She ached for him, but it also made her very nervous.

Eugene, on the other hand, seemed completely unfazed by this physical change in their relationship. Well, that wasn't entirely true. He seemed happier; there was a noticeable spring in his step. Despite what all the naysayers had claimed about former thieves not being marriage material, marriage really suited him and all its accouterments didn't cause him to become awkward the way they made her feel like she was all thumbs. He didn't blush or flinch or look away or try to cover himself the way she did when they were alone at night. It wasn't that she didn't share in her husband's enthusiasm or crave his affections. She welcomed his touch, but at the same time she felt jumpy, unsure of what to say or what to do.

She supposed her uneasiness were due to her lack of experience. She knew there had been other women. It wasn't a pleasant thought, but he'd been honest with her about that and about every other aspect of his life. He'd talked to her about his past shortly before he proposed to her. She'd cried when he'd broken the news that had been obvious to everyone but her. He hadn't meant to hurt her, but he was determined that she make an informed decision.

She knew that honesty and candor were not incompatible with the life of this former thief. She knew the years of gallivanting about in the countryside were as much a part of what made up this kind and wonderful man as his ability to love deeply and his willingness to lay his life down for her freely after only a few days. She was above feeling petty jealously over fleeting former lovers, she knew that inside this man's heart lay a deeply rooted devotion to her, to the dream they had just fulfilled, and to the new dreams they had not yet voiced in words. She knew that she loved him and she accepted him fully.

He made quick work of her bodice and pulled the gown over her head. Despite the concern he'd expressed about getting her dress dirty, he tossed it over the side of the bed and onto the floor without further thought, the fabric landed on the floor with a quiet rustle. She was left with only the chemise she wore underneath. The garment was easily laundered and she had dozens of them, even if she got a little medicine on it, it wouldn't be a big deal.

Still, his greedy hands reached for the thins straps of the undergarment so she placed a hand covered with ointment on the center of his chest and pushed him back onto the pillows. "What about your nightshirt?" She had meant to buy herself more time, but the eager grin he gave her told him he liked her suggestion and was all too happy to oblige. After a bit of shifting under the covers, he reached a hand back to pull the cotton garment off of himself by the collar. It too joined her dress on the floor. Rapunzel gulped trying not to stare at her husband's bare chest.

Although the blankets were still safely settled over his waist, she was acutely aware that she was now the only person wearing any article of clothing in the room. The chemise she clung to like a heavy coat in the middle of a snowstorm was a simple underdress, made of muslin with a delicate lace trim. The material was almost sheer and didn't really cover her much, but she wasn't ready to part with it yet. She was certain he could make the outlines of her small breasts through the fabric, especially now that the room was so sunny and bright, but to his credit he did not gawked at her. Even the handful of times she'd worn even less in front of him, he didn't stare at her nakedness or make her feel leered at. Her uneasiness came from within.

His hands reached out once more to the straps of the chemise and she flinched. He looked hurt again, but this time instead of covering it up with a toothy grin he grew quiet and pensive.

"Rapunzel. Am I doing something wrong?" For the first time since they'd started this tug of war he didn't meet her gaze.

"Wrong?" She parroted back.

"I can't help but think that I make you uncomfortable, that you don't like the way I touch you."

The playfulness was gone from his tone and her normally confident husband didn't sound so sure of himself. Rapunzel's heart seized in her chest. All this time she'd been struggling with her own shyness and she hadn't even thought about how her deflections might make Eugene feel. She knew there was only one way fix this. She had to be honest with him.

". . . It's not you, it's me," she mumbled.

He leaned in closer and she continued.

"I don't know what I'm doing." She sighed. "What if I mess up? What if I say something inappropriate, or do something wrong?"

"You won't."

"But what if I do?"

He ran his fingers through the short locks that framed her face pushing them behind her ears and cupping her chin so that it rested in his palms. And then he kissed her. Rapunzel's breath hitched and she could feel a smile broadening at the juncture where his lips met her skin. "That's the nice part, I guess. We get to figure it out together," he said. Then he gathered her in his arms and sat her astride over his lap.

She wasn't sure if he had done it on purpose, but he'd placed her directly on top of that bump in the covers she'd been trying to ignore. Now that she felt it beneath her, it distracted her and though she resumed slathering the medicine on his chest, it was a perfunctory gesture and she could think of little else. She began to feel that jumble of nerves in the pit of her stomach again and she started to panic. It didn't help matters that he'd leaned in and begun to trace the downward slope of her neck with the tip of his nose and then with his lips.

Still, she was determined not to reject his affections a third time. She closed her eyes and concentrated on that fuzzy, pleasant feeling he so easily conjured up inside her. She felt the coarseness of his goatee scraping against the spot where her neck joined her shoulder and it sent a thrill through her. She felt the warmth of his breath against her skin, coming in a bit heavy, coming in more ragged than normal and causing the minuscule hairs on her skin to stand on end. She wasn't sure if she was making him pant, or if it was the herbs in the ointment she'd slathered on him and had now gotten on both of them, but she found it affected her own breathing as well.

She focused on the distinct manner in which he touched her now that they were alone. His lips seemed firmer, rougher, his hands gripped and lingered. He never kissed her neck or caressed her this way when they were in public and he never ran his hands down her back and gripped her bottom like he was doing now. When she concentrated on these things she found she longer cared to hold onto the chemise. She found that the bedding that lay between them was much too thick, an unwanted barrier separating her from the person she loved most. She pulled back the bedcovers. She bunched the hem of her undergarment with both hands and pushed it up over her hips all the while the inside of his palms followed the fabric as it receded from her thighs, up her torso and over her head.

It didn't take long for both of them to be covered in ointment. The medicine she'd rubbed onto his chest had transferred onto her own as he'd pressed his body against her and she'd forgotten all about the ointment when she ran her sticky fingers through his hair.

"Rapunzel."

"Hmmm?"

"If this is how you're going to give me my medicine, I can't wait to take the next dose."

Rather than chastise her husband for his cheeky comment, she was honest with him.

"I don't want to wait either." Whatever witty retort he had planned died on his lips as she wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him into a kiss.

* * *

**Prompt: **A sick Eugene acts like a naughty child and drives Rapunzel mad while she takes takes care of him. You may make it M rated.

**AN:** Thanks to **Unknown Foreign Beauty** for the prompt. I'm not sure this is what you wanted, but sometimes these fics have a mind of their own. I still owe prompt fills to **Jessamarie**, **Beta Gyre**, and two anon requesters (one **Inked** related; one canon-compliant). But first I need to work on the next chapter of **Disclosure**. So if you're following that story, please be patient. It will get updated. I just can't say when.


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